One touch, and it was over
I tried to tell you so much, tried to tell you all, in that one touch
But you said 'no' - - - not in words,
no, you could not say it that way,
yet, I knew
I turned, and when I looked back, as Eurydice, you were gone
Did you not see that I cared - - - could care at all.
No, and your smile remains
as a nightmare for all time.
* * *
The jazzman, at a dim-lit corner of a musty, shadowy saloon
His dark form bent low as he peers into the hollow blackness of an open doorway
His fingers moving slowly across the dusty keys
And then suddenly flying in a swift, ecstatic movement
Evoking countless patterns of blueness and of sorrowing frenzy
Raising his head to a focus on the gray ceiling
Dropping it again and closing tight the eyes behind the dark-colored glasses
Unmindful of the swirling mass around him
Playing on and on, never ceasing, into the fast-escaping night.
(Submit your poem for inclusion in the Poetry Corner to firstname.lastname@example.org)